


For Old Times' Sake

by Talullah



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:25:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2177817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin's not the only one who likes to play...</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Old Times' Sake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/gifts).



> Many thanks to swirly_ayuri for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Written for slashfest, for sandrine, whose request was "I'd love to see something set right after the little... gunkink moment in 4.05. ;) No non-con, please."
> 
>  
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

Justin wasn't much of a believer in coincidences, so when he entered the store and saw Chris Hobbs (who had never liked comics) perusing the shelves under Michael's gentle gaze, he knew he was in trouble. Damn Cody and his stupid ideas. Violence only looked good on paper.

Chris looked towards the door, and the two of them stood staring at each other. Justin tried hard not to think of cowboys and duels, and he had to bite back a smile; an embarrassing one, given the circumstances. Chris quirked his mouth into something that could almost be a smile, though it was most likely a sneer.

And then Justin realized something: there he was, staring at Chris Hobbs, his high school crush, his nemesis, and he felt nothing. Not the cold anger of last night, not the lust of the old days, and certainly not the fear that had plagued him since prom night.

Michael glanced from one to the other, obviously wondering what was behind the silent duel. Closing the door, Justin smiled at him and approached the counter.

"I came to drop these off," he said, handing Michael a portfolio with some of his latest ideas. Michael, usually so eager, didn't even open it. His eyes flew to Chris and back to Justin, questioningly.

"Chris is an old acquaintance," Justin said matter-of-factly. "We were just on our way back, weren't we?" he added, looking at Chris, who sort of nodded.

"Chris?" Michael looked from one to the other again. "Not _the_ Chris, Chris?"

"Yes, the gay basher Chris," Justin confirmed. Feeling cheeky, he pecked Michael's cheek just before he left. Chris was slow in following, so Justin amused himself by holding the door open in a chivalrous gesture.

They walked down the street side by side in silence. Justin's self-assuredness gave place to his imagination; as he wondered exactly what Chris wanted, he felt a hint of anxiety more related to possible legal action than to the paralyzing physical fear he used to feel.

"So..." he asked at length, "how did you find me?"

"Your faggot friend," Chris replied all too fast.

"Cody. Right. Not my friend anymore."

"I wouldn't have guessed," Chris replied, his sarcasm too neutral to incline either into aggression or a friendlier something.

"So what do you want?" Justin asked. "An apology? You're not going to get it. If you're planning to sue - I don't know what that weasel told you, but he's not exactly what I'd call a good witness. If you're here to bash me again, well, be careful this time. You won't get me with my back turned."

"Jeez..." Chris stuck his hands in his coat pockets. "I want to talk."

"About?"

Chris stuck his chin inside his scarf. Justin could barely hear him over the traffic when he muttered, "Stuff. I don't know."

Justin stopped. They had reached the end of the block, and he had to make a decision on what to do and where to go next. "There's a coffee shop across the street," he suggested.

"Okay."

The only way the place resembled a coffee shop was in its name. It was seedy, but the clientele was the right kind, the type who would come to help a brother in need. Just in case Chris' 'talk' meant anything involving baseball bats.

They went in and sat down in a booth near the bathrooms at the far end. Justin ordered coffee while Chris looked around wide eyed, trying to find something that was safe to take. He ended up asking for a scotch, which worried Justin. A man with a history of drinking violence...

"So," Justin said, after the waiter left.

Chris looked straight into his eyes, then down at the table.

"Cat got your tongue?" Justin taunted as the minutes stretched by and Chris simply stared at his hands clenching and unclenching.

The waiter came by with the drinks and placed them on the table.

Chris gulped down the whiskey and set the glass on the table maybe a little too firmly. Justin brought his cup to his lips and contented himself with the warmth emanating from it - there was no way he'd ever give that shitty coffee a second try, as much as Michael promised him it wasn't so bad.

"I..." Chris started, his eyes flashing up to Justin, then down again.

"You what?" Justin asked, mimicking Chris as he sat down the coffee a little too hard. He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Mighty Chris Hobbs, bully and homophobe extraordinaire, lost his nerve after one close encounter with a steel lady? Is that it? What a sissy."

Chris snapped forward and grabbed Justin's wrists. "Don't you ever call me that again," he ordered in low, barely contained voice.

Justin snatched his wrists back. "Ah, he shows his claws."

"Listen Taylor, I came here to apologize, okay?"

Justin huffed. "Right, of course you did. Just days earlier you were calling me faggot and sneering at me."

"You caught me at a bad moment. The guys at the construction site would never have let me live it down if I had been seen hugging and kissing a gay man."

"That's bullshit, you know that." Justin moved to rise, but Chris caught his wrist. Justin waited, half-standing.

"Okay, maybe it was a little bullshit. But last night after you left, I started thinking, and... I don't know, I had to talk to you."

"Oh really?" Justin sneered.

"Really." Chris stared straight into Justin's eyes and held his wrist painfully tight.

"Listen, I don't know where you're going with this but I have to go," Justin said, snatching his hand back.

As Justin rose, Chris sat back and looked at him, his expression of compunction giving way to one of disdain that Justin knew so well.

"So you're only strong when you have a gun in your hand, eh?"

"And you need a baseball bat to protect you from the likes of me, right?" Justin snapped back, sitting down again. "Tell me one thing, why are you here? Was that hand job I gave you so long ago so good you had to come back for more?"

"No. But that's more like it," Chris said, leaning across the table until his face was mere inches from Justin's.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Chris didn't reply. Instead, he pulled Justin to him, pressing their lips together so hard that Justin felt the skin breaking. When Chris let him go, he sat back, licking his wounded lip as he tried to process what had just happened.

"So you're out of the closet. Or the locker room in your case," he managed to say.

"Shut the fuck up. You have no idea who I am or what I'm doing," Chris replied.

"I know you're an asshole, a homophobic one."

"Fuck you," Chris said, standing up.

"Fuck you!" Justin replied, as he rose and looked Chris straight in the eye.

They stood in silence, Justin bristling with anger and trying to think of a good reason not to punch Chris in the face. Oh, that's right, he hated violence. Not quite.

"Do you want to know why I came here?" Chris challenged.

Justin raised an eyebrow, vaguely aware of the barman staring at them, trying to figure out whether or not he would need to break a fight in the next few seconds.

"I wanted to see how you'd be without your little gun. You don't have it, do you? I saw you giving it to your little asshole friend," Chris said.

"So?"

"So. I don't get you. I still hate your guts."

"For what?" Justin realized he had raised his voice loud enough to make the barman twitch.

"For making me doubt myself," Chris admitted. "You fucking _girl._ " There was such vitriol in the epithet that it had the opposite effect and Justin burst out laughing.

"I'm no girl, but I do fuck," he said when the laughter died down.

"I know."

For the first time, Justin identified desire in Chris' wild mix of anger and resentment. He swallowed dryly. He hated Chris, hated his guts for what he had done to him, but a part of him remembered how intense his crush on him had felt.

Chris touched his hip, looking around with the peculiar nervousness only closeted males can have. His eyes landed on the bathroom door.

"No," Justin said out of instinct.

Chris shook his head, blinked and stared at Justin. There it was again, that beat up dog look from last night, that helplessness. Justin saw him with the gun in his mouth, his eyes glistening, the fear more sincere than the apology. And with a mix of horror, surprise and a tinge of amusement, he felt himself growing hard. He glanced at the bathroom door, then back at Chris.

Wouldn't that be the ultimate revenge? He was no saint for all he had gone through. His only truth was what Brian had told him: be the best homosexual you can. And in this case, it meant taking this little homophobic cunt into the stalls and making him sweat. Give him something to remember him by, maybe a sore butthole, maybe a stain in his necktie, anything to make Chris Hobbs look himself in the mirror with just a little bit more disgust... or more acceptance.

He pushed Chris back, towards the bathroom. As soon as the door was closed, Chris was all over him; trying to kiss him open mouthed, running his hands through his body, pressing him back against the wall. Justin recognized his hunger and decided it was time to make him suffer.

Putting his hands on Chris' chest, he pushed him back. "On your knees," he ordered.

Chris' Adam's apple moved up and down. He stood there, his thoughts so clearly displayed on his face that Justin felt like laughing. He forced his expression to remain stolid.

"Fine, if that's how it is, I've better things to do," he said, moving to the door.

"Wait," Chris said, holding him by the wrist, "it's just that I've... I've never..."

"Done this? Well, there's always a first time. You know, I really like to see you on your knees."

Chris knelt much faster than Justin would have imagined. He did like seeing him like that, face looking up to him, body movement constrained by the awkwardness of the position. He relaxed against the wall and suggestively ran a hand down his body, letting it rest against his groin.

"Tell me one thing, Chris," he said. "Did you enjoy that last night? Having the gun in your mouth?" He rubbed himself a little. "Because I think you did. You liked having your mouth full of something. You have such cocksucker lips, don't you?"

Chris's breathing started to sound heavier and he tried to reach for Justin's groin. Justin batted his hand away.

"Yeah, you like that, you little cunt. How about the real thing?" He started unbuttoning his fly. "Like this?" he asked, gripping himself and pulling up and down until he was fully hard. "Like cock, is that it?"

A look of pure hate flashed across Chris's face, but desire won and he licked his lips.

"I think you've done this before. I don't think I was the only guy that got you off." Justin held his cock with two fingers and brushed it against Chris' lips, pulling back as soon as the other tried to take the initiative.

"Well aren't you eager?" he teased, moving his cock up and down right in front of Chris' eyes.

"Cut the crap already," Chris said, propelling himself forward. Justin laughed, hissing when Chris's teeth scraped the head of his cock, pushed deeper where everything was softer. Chris immediately started bobbing back and forth, making up in speed and suction for what he lacked in technique. Justin would have made a biting remark, except that he was too busy trying to keep Chris at a decent rhythm. He didn't want to come in five minutes like a high school boy.

Daphne would never believe this, he thought, as Chris started slowing down and trying other stuff on his cock with an interesting degree of success. Justin looked down and saw Chris completely absorbed in his task, his eyes closed in an expression of pain, pleasure and concentration. To Justin's surprise, he hadn't even taken his cock out of his pants and only massaged himself over his clothes. The little hypocrite loved cock too much, enough to make him hate gay men as much as he did. Justin let himself be sucked, licked, and tasted for a while longer before pushing Chris' face away from his groin.

The bathroom floor had seen cleaner days, but he enjoyed the sight of Chris Hobbs' fine wool pants cleaning it.

"On all fours," he ordered.

Chris hesitated. "No way," he whispered. "Not that."

Justin sneered. "My fat gay cock is good in your mouth but not in your ass?"

"Fuck you," Chris said.

"Kind of you to offer," Justin deadpanned. "Now get on your knees." He bit back a 'bitch;' Chris didn't seem ready for it.

Justin watched him readjust his body, the reluctance written in every movement warring with desire.

He knelt behind Chris and reached his hand around his hips to feel his cock. Chris moaned and tried to dry hump Justin's hand. Justin laughed and took it away. He unzipped Chris' pants but didn't pull them down immediately. The fine wool felt soft and pleasant against his cock, and a part of him was oddly reluctant to do this. He rubbed himself hard against Chris Hobbs, the mighty Chris Hobbs who incarnated masculinity and heterosexuality when he was not letting gay boys jack him off. When he was not so scared that he had to bat them down, when he was not so turned on by them that he had to find them and kneel before them on the dirty floor of a sleazy gay joint.

He pumped Chris' cock a few times, to the same rhythm of his hips, and thought of Brian, who would probably laugh his head off if he only suspected. Or he might yell at him for his stupidity.

Chris let out a sob, pushing back against Justin. Oh, the ironies of life. Justin shrugged and felt his pocket for a condom. Fuck Chris Hobbs. Fuck this shit. Before he could ponder anymore, he rolled it on, yanked Chris' pants down, and tapped his cock in the cleft of his ass. He didn't want to put his fingers inside. He had never been squeamish, but this was Chris fucking Hobbs, whom he hated - at least until last night.

He pushed in so hard that Chris almost fell on his face, whimpering loudly.

"Oh sorry, did I hurt you?" Justin taunted. He didn't want to damage Chris, but he found that he actually liked the thought of inflicting a little pain on him.

Chris twitched around him, painfully tight. Justin started slow fucking him, getting himself in inch by inch until he was fully sheathed. Chris was still breathing hard, straining around him, but Justin ignored it. Chris was not in agony or even close. He started pumping, instinctively changing his angle to try to hit Chris' prostate, before he realized that he didn't want to give pleasure, not to this partner. Chris made a sound and Justin knew he'd found it, that the pain was not so great that Chris would not be interested in more.

"Jerk off, why don't you?" Justin said, his tone so vicious that he barely recognized himself. He picked up the rhythm and gave it good to Chris, determined that the arrogant bastard wouldn't be sitting straight for a few days. The anger flared and Justin thrust harder until he was at his fastest, at a speed he knew he can't last. Fuck it, he thought. They were in a public restroom and sometime soon someone would need to use it; even if the costumers knew the politeness code that says you don't interrupt people fucking.

He let go, let his muscles relax within the movement, let the heat pooling in his hips converge to his cock. And slowly, inexorably, he came, gripping Chris' hips as he slammed into him, the force of his thrusts so hard that Chris fell to his elbows.

He drew back and yanked the condom off. This was a mistake, a bloody mistake. Not even the sight of Chris fucking Hobbs panting on the floor, upraised ass red and swollen from him, hand furiously working his cock, could convince Justin otherwise.

He got up, pulling his jeans up and fastening them as he moved to the door. He looked back once at Chris, who was kneeling cock in hand as he stared at him in disbelief.

"Are you going to leave me like this?" Chris asked and Justin saw it again, that flash of anger, that thing that hid inside Chris and made him ugly.

"Yeah," he replied. Gripping the door handle, he let one more jab fly, "Was it good, honey?"

Chris eyes narrowed from pure hatred. Or maybe it was something else because he then shut them and came with an ugly face and an ugly moan.

"Don't come round this neighborhood so soon," Justin warned before leaving the bathroom.

Justin crossed the bar, grabbed his anorak from the hanger, and went into the street where the cold air made him feel cleaner, saner. It was as if he had been drinking all night. The images flooded his mind. Chris Hobbs was turned on by boys, that much he already knew. Chris Hobbs turned on by violence, so much that even a day after he craved it; that Justin had not seen coming, though he should have. Chris Hobbs submitting to sodomy, that great big paragon of gay virtue. That, he couldn't have guessed in a million years.

Unconsciously, Justin headed home. Fuck, that's right, he had one, and fucking people like Chris Hobbs was not something that would go over well in his home. Brian had been coming home late recently, so he would have time to shower and force himself to think about something else.

A car almost hit his legs. Justin made to protest but he realized he was jaywalking like a fucking idiot. Raising his hands in apology, he stepped back to the side curb. Taking a deep breath, he decided that this madness would end that moment. He knew that the images would haunt him for some time. This was not an innocent, anonymous, forgettable hook up in Babylon, but it didn't have to change anything. Except that now there was absolutely no feeling of revenge left in him. He realized that felt good, better even than the night before. He had finally let it go.

 

_Finis  
October 2008_


End file.
